One Hundred and Thirty-Six Scars(28)
“Are you kidding me? Yes, yes, I’m ready.”
And just like that, her eyes light up like the fourth of July.
“All right then, let’s head to Speedy’s Way.” I giggle under my breath at her face beaming up at her brother. Speedy is her nickname that she had been crowned since she was a child. She named her circuit after it.
Linking our arms together, she takes us to her monster garage.
“Oh dear God, here we go,” I mutter under my breath. Every car ride with Phoebe is like a race against time.
I’m in my office, sorting through paperwork when Hella walks in, his face falling.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, dropping the papers of last month’s earnings in a pile beside the door. Yeah, I think I need to hire an accountant. One that doesn’t ask questions about what we do. Somehow, I don’t think that will be so easy.
“Someone’s been following me. It’s happened a few times,” he answers, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.
“Yeah, same here. Black SUV? They haven’t made a move yet. We’re sitting ducks waiting, though.” I lean back into my seat, stretching my legs out.
“We need to end this once and for all. Blow up their entire pad,” he replies casually.
I laugh. “Hella, there are innocent people in there. We just need a plan to get them out safely, and then we kill them all. What about your girl in Westbeach?”
Raising his eyebrows, he asks, “Who? Abby? Ha! She’s not my girl. Yeah, I’ll hit her up.”
“And Hella?” I yell out before he hits the door on his way out. “Get me an accountant. One that’s crooked around the lines.”
“How am I supposed to find an accountant that’s going to not ask questions about what we do?”
“I don’t know. Use that imagination.”
He closes the door behind himself. Standing from my chair, I make my way to the bar. I’m sick of looking at numbers. They ain’t my thing.
Pulling out a chair, I slide in next to Hannibal. “We need an accountant, brother. I fucking hate doing numbers.”
He shrugs. “I know someone. She’s a little feisty, doesn’t take shit, but won’t ask questions about what goes on here.”
Turning myself to him, I raise my eyebrows. “Who is she?”
“My sister’s best friend. Fucking annoying little bitch, but she’s lived with us since she was fourteen when both her parents died in a car accident. She’s twenty-two now and just graduated with a degree in accounting and small business. She and my sister still live at my olds, they’re looking for jobs and all that now.”
“Yeah, somehow I don’t think this is what she’d be interested in.”
“Oh…” he smirked around his glass, “…I’m sure I can persuade her.”
“Jesus, you dipping in that?”
He shakes his head. “Fuck no. Fuck off. No. I hate her.”
“Well, how the hell are you going to get her to come then, fuckface?”
“I have my wicked ways.” He smirks up at me.
“I don’t doubt that… at all.”
And I don’t. Hannibal is one of the craziest motherfuckers I know. He and Hella run around the same level of crazy, but even Hella has limits. Hannibal doesn’t. He’s twenty-five, one of the younger ones in our club, and has the kind of level of crazy that you never want to cross.
“I’ll hit her up. When do you want her to start?”
“Whenever.”
He takes his drink and walks upstairs to one of the bedrooms up in the loft. I shake my head around a laugh. Fucking psycho.
The rest of the day goes averagely slow, with my phone getting call after call from Shelby. I decide to drop it and leave it in my pocket on silent.
Hella walks up to me when I’m in the back shed, sorting through our next shipment. “I got hold of Abby, she said she can help. She’s got this crazy plan about bringing down the Russians as well and wants to kill two birds with the one stone. She needs us to bait The Army out to meet up where she’s having the Russians lead to. They know about The Army and the operations that they run, but they can’t touch them. She needs one of the Commanders—preferably Kurr—so she can slowly break him to see which corrupt government is behind it.”
“It’s our corrupted government.”
“She needs to provide proof.”
“What makes her think she can change it? There’s no way.”
“By exposing them,” he answered.
“Those commanders will die before they talk,” I clarify with him, turning my attention back to the AKA I’m holding.